The Gallery
by dhawthorne
Summary: Jamie Ross reflects on her life with Neal Gorton: their first meeting, the beginning of their romance, their marriage, his constant cheating, and finally, their divorce. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

The Gallery

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Dick Wolf. The song is called "The Gallery" and is by Joni Mitchell. It is part of her first album, _Clouds_.

Chapter One

_When I first saw your gallery,_

_I liked the ones of ladies._

_Then you began to hang up me,_

_You studied to portray me_

_In ice and greens, and old blue jeans,_

_And naked in the roses._

_Then you got into funny scenes,_

_That all your work discloses_.

* * *

I was offered a job at Steinhart & Gorton after my graduation from Columbia. I was at the top of my class in both law school and as an undergrad, so it was not unexpected to get an offer from one of New York City's most prestigious law firms. Nevertheless, I was very nervous on my first day at Steinhart & Gorton.

I quickly learned that I had nothing to be nervous about. Although this was one of the top law firms in the city, I was easily able to outshine my colleagues in my briefs, depositions, and in every other category. Two months after I began working at Steinhart & Gorton, Neal Gorton himself called me into his office.

"Miss Ross," he began, his fingers steepled together under his chin, "I've heard some very good things about you."

"Oh, really," I said, an eyebrow raised, feigning nonchalance.

"Yes, really," he mocked me. I smiled, and he was taken aback by the ease at which I accepted his jab at me. He cleared his throat. "I'd like you to start working on some cases with me," he said, "And we'll see where you go from there."

I smiled politely – I had thought that was the subject of the meeting. I needed to stay cool, though, so I asked, "Is that all, sir?"

Now it was time for his eyebrow to rise in surprise. "Yes, that is all. I will see you here in my office tomorrow at nine o'clock."

"All right," I replied, and rose from my seat. Turning towards the door, I was about to exit his office when he called out to me. "Oh, and Miss Ross?"

I turned and faced him. "Yes?"

"Please be on time."

I had actually been waiting for _him_ – he was late for this meeting, and I was early. I did not want him to think that he could push me around.

"As long as you are, sir. And it's _Ms. _Ross, if you don't mind." I opened the door, and exited his office.

The next day, I was shown into his office by his secretary at five minutes of nine o'clock. I waited for five minutes before standing up and looking around his office. _If he has the audacity to be late, than I certainly have the right to look around his office, see what kind of person he is_, I thought to myself. I came across a wall of portraits, all hand-painted, all of different people. Most were men, but some were women. The nameplates on the frame indicated the identity of each person. Most of the men were former partners of Steinhart & Gorton; others were politicians. The women were all famous in their own right – either because of their brains, or because of their beauty.

I heard the door open, and I turned around and watched as Neal Gorton entered his office.

"You are ten minutes late, Mr. Gorton," I told him.

"Are you sure that you are not ten minutes early?" he shot back.

"No," I replied, "I was five minutes early, and that was fifteen minutes ago. We had an appointment for nine o'clock."

"Very well, then," he said, and sat down behind his desk, looking at me.

"That's all you have to say?" I asked him.

"What else is there to say? I am the boss, you are the subordinate. You are to be on time, and I do not have to be. Take a seat, Miss Ross, and let us not delay our meeting any further than it already has been."

I sat down. "It's _Ms. _Ross," I said.

He looked up from some papers he had been signing. "Excuse me?"

I repeated, "It's _Ms. _Ross, not _Miss _Ross."

"Fine. Now that we have gotten that out of the way, I would like to move on with our meeting."

"Fine."

Soon, the tension between us dissipated, and a friendly rapport was established between us. Our skills in the courtroom complemented each other well, and we won two cases together before he asked me back to his townhouse for a drink. I agreed.

He showed me to the lounge, and I settled on the leather couch while he went to fetch an ice bucket. An easel stood in the corner, covered with a white sheet, and I looked at it curiously. I wondered if he had painted some of the portraits hanging on his office walls.

When he returned, I asked him about the covered easel.

"Oh, yes, I did paint some of the portraits on my walls. This is my latest work, however."

"May I take a look?" I inquired cautiously. His portraits had been quite good, and I was curious to see whom he had decided to paint next.

He put his drink down on a coaster, walked over to the easel, and flung back the sheet. There I was, sitting in a garden filled with ice-covered roses, wearing nothing but a pair of ancient blue jeans. Roses abounded in the scene, and several discreetly covered my chest. I was stunned.

I was so taken in by the portrait that I had not noticed that Neal had crept around behind me and taken my glass of wine from my hand. He slipped an arm around my lower back, and I turned towards him. I had shed my shoes when I was waiting for him to return with the ice bucket; and in my bare feet, we were the same height.

"Do you like it," he asked me, his voice low.

"Oh, yes," I breathed. For I did like it. Despite how shocked I was, I was also immensely flattered. Of all the women he could have chosen to paint, he chose me. While he was not the most physically attractive man I had met, he was very attractive to me in other ways. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and our lips met. We broke apart, and he took my hand and led me up the stairs to his bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

_Somewhere in a magazine,_

_I found a page about you_

_I see that now it's Josephine_

_Who cannot be without you_

_I keep your house in fit repair,_

_I dust the portraits daily._

_Your mail comes in from everywhere,_

_The writing looks like ladies._

* * *

Neal and I got married a year later, and a year and a half after that, we had our daughter, Katie. I took a leave of absence from the firm to spend time with Katie. Although we had a nanny, I wanted to be a part of my daughter's life.

Neal, however, started working even longer hours at the office, using the excuse of "new cases" and "the loss of our best attorney" (me). Although he did attempt to flatter me, it did not work.

By the time Katie was three, Neal was barely home one night out of thirty. He kept an apartment two blocks from the office, as well as another one in Los Angeles. He began seeing Josephine Langley, an attorney at Steinhart & Gorton, and I knew that he was replacing me.

The society pages ate it up. Liz Smith, Page Six, the New York Social Diary, everyone began covering Neal's new romance. Meanwhile, I stayed at home and took care of Katie and the house.

Over the next several months, the only reason Neal would even stop by the house would be to collect his mail. Postcards and letters postmarked Los Angeles, New York City, Boston, Chicago… and all of the mail was from women. Obviously, Neal was not being a very faithful husband.

And throughout these months, I took care of the house and our daughter. While we had a housekeeper, I had never allowed her to clean Neal's study. I didn't want her to see the portrait of me that Neal had painted years ago. Every day I dusted the portraits that he had on his study wall – the ones of a more – personal – nature that he did not dare to keep in his office.

I did not mind that much. I did dislike the fact that we were being written up in the society pages, but I did not mind the freedom Neal's philandering afforded me. After Katie was born, I realised what a mistake I had made in marrying Neal. He was nothing but a womaniser. He was not even that attractive! But his philandering meant that he could not argue with me when I decided to take on a few pro-bono cases. I had missed the law, but I did not want to go back to prosecuting the rich, guilty, scumbag clients that Steinhart & Gorton attracted.

So I bided my time and gathered evidence: clippings from the society pages, letters from his lovers, and answering machine tapes with his girlfriends' messages on them. When I filed for divorce in 1995, the judge ruled in my favour, and awarded me custody of my daughter.

* * *

_I gave you all my pretty years,_

_And we began to weather,_

_And I was left to winter here_

_While you went west for pleasure._

_And now you're flying back this way,_

_Like some lost homing pigeon._

_They monitored your brain, you say_

_And changed you with religion_.

* * *

I stayed with Neal throughout my early thirties, and, on my thirty-fifth birthday, I filed for divorce. A year later, I won the case, and I also won custody of Katie. I kept the townhouse, and Neal had to pay me alimony. Unfortunately, he still had visitation rights. However, our custody agreement was the most complex one I have ever seen – it even dictates what television shows Katie can watch. At least she won't believe that her father is the one who allows her to do things that I won't.

The event that made me decide to file for divorce was his three-month trip to Los Angeles in the winter of 1995. When he finally returned, it was only because the judge summoned him back. He even forgot Katie's birthday.

After his latest girlfriend broke up with him, however, he flew back to New York and tried to reconcile with me. I laughed in his face when he told me that he had started going to see a therapist out in Los Angeles. Therapy was like a religion on the West Coast, but I did not buy the whole "reconciliation" talk. He was just trying to get back in my bed, and I would not allow it.

I told him as much. And when he was standing there, mouth open, stunned by my response, I also told him that I was quitting the firm.

I'm surprised he didn't have a concussion when he passed out and hit the marble floor.


	3. Chapter 3

The Gallery, Chapter Three

* * *

_When I first saw your gallery,_

_I liked the ones of ladies._

_Now their faces follow me,_

_And all their eyes look shady_.

* * *

I started working for the D.A.'s office after leaving Steinhart & Gorton. I had not wanted to find another firm to work at, because, honestly, I was disgusted at the type of clients we had. I believed in monsters and things that went "bump" in the night – and I did not want to contribute to helping them weasel their way out of a punishment.

So I began work at One Hogan Place as a senior A.D.A. – I had Adam Schiff to thank for that. He knew the calibre of clients that I helped to defend when I worked at Steinhart & Gorton, and he was eager to put me to work in the Felonies branch of the office.

I began assisting Jack McCoy six months after I began at Hogan Place – and I would have started sooner, had he not been so adamant in not replacing Claire Kincaid – his dead lover, and former assistant. Finally, Adam had told him that he had to accept me as his new assistant – and while Jack did, grudgingly, he did not speak to me unless absolutely necessary.

Needless to say, working at Hogan Place was almost as bad as working with Neal.

The thing that bothered me the most about Jack McCoy was not his standoffish attitude, or his inability to see me as an equal. No, it was the collection of photos he had on his desk – of his former wife and his daughter, of Claire Kincaid, Sally Bell, Diana Hawthorne, Shelly Kates… it was just like Neal's collection. After we had divorced, I burnt the picture Neal had painted of me. I often had nightmares about his gallery of women – I did not want to be someone that he could "collect".

About a year later, Jack began making tentative attempts at beginning a relationship with me, and while I did find him attractive, his collection of photographs reminded me too much of Neal – and I rejected his advances.

Several years later, after I became a judge, I had visited Jack's office again – I forget for what reason – but I had the opportunity to look at his collection of photographs. I was pleased to find that I was not among the women in the pictures, although my successor as his assistant, Abbie Carmichael; and the current interim D.A., Nora Lewin; were.

I was glad I was no longer in anyone's "collection" - I was finally my own person.

THE END

A/N: The line about "things that go bump in the night" is from a L&O episode with Jamie and Jack - not sure which one, though.


End file.
